House of Mirrors
by Space Cowgirl
Summary: The most deeply hidden and evil part of Logan's past comes back to haunt him...and destroy the X-Men one by one.
1. Cracked Glass

Disclaimer: Marvel rules the world. The Shi'ar rule the rest. I don't want any of their money (that's a blatant lie but hey, this is just the disclaimer.) 

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Author's note: _This fic is set immediately after Uncanny X-Men #384 (or whichever number, this month's ish), the book with the Logan and Jean smoocheroo on the cover. Other than that kiss, Marvel's story line has been tossed out a high window. This is my own plotline, deals with much darker stuff than the comic, has some gratuitous violence, and as usual I've made up my own team. This idea was co-thought-up with my sweetie SonOfSephiroth52 (Go read his stuff!) and dedicated to m'friend and fellow author Addie Logan. Have fun. Or not. I suppose I should also put a little synopsis in here…A hidden and evil piece of Logan's past comes back to haunt him, Jean wants to have a relationship, and all the X-Men are being stalked by something…or someone. Be afraid, y'all. Very afraid. Oh oh oh! And there's major character death. Don't yell at me! I'm just a slave to my muse!_

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X-Men: House of Mirrors

A telephone ringing is not normally a cause for alarm. Jean Grey was the one to pick up the receiver without a care. Before Jean would come to lie helpless in a dingy corner, leg broken and slave collar digging into her neck, she would learn to fear the sound of the bell inside the plastic case. But tonight, she set aside her book and answered. "Xavier Institute." 

"Jeannie?" said Logan's voice. "Jeannie, my goddamn jeep quit on me again. Can you come down here and pick me up?" 

"Where's here?" asked Jean. There was an intake of breath on the other end of the line.

"Tony's" said Logan. To his credit, he lowered his voice a note in shame. Jean's lips tightened. 

"The girlie joint. Right." Logan started to explain. 

"I'm sorry, Jeannie, but—" Jean hung up on him. 

"Bastard," she said almost conversationally. She removed her reading glasses and went to the foyer coat closet. She encountered Jubilee stirring a lumpy cup of Swiss Miss cocoa, heading up the broad stairs. "Where are you headed?" asked Jean. 

"Bed," said Jubilee. "I have to teach a class tomorrow, second period." Jean pulled on her blue windbreaker and found the keys to one of the school's Explorers. 

"Where are _you_ going?" asked Jubilee with a note of reproach. 

"Downtown," said Jean, anger rising. 

"You know you can't treat him that way," said Jubilee. "It'll just encourage him." 

"I think I can take care of the situation, thank you," said Jean curtly. She still couldn't stomach Jubilation Lee giving her advice. She yanked open the heavy door and slammed it so the glass rattled. 

Tony's was located in an old building in a suburban district that had decayed into a bad neighborhood. Its neon was shabby, and the windows needed washing. The parking lot was populated with men, pale, furtive, dirty, bold—vice didn't discriminate. And him. Leaning against the fender of the jeep, cigar stuck in one side of his mouth, backlit by red neon proclaiming GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS. Jean pulled the Explorer to a stop and got out. She knew he smelled her before he even turned. "Hey." 

"Don't," said Jean. She moved around him and slammed the hood of the jeep, moved further down and pulled the canvas top up. "Just don't." 

"There's a good explanation, Jeannie," said Logan as he stomped out his cigar and came to help her fasten the top. Jean moved her shoulder and shoved his hand away. 

"There always is, Logan. There always is. Get in the car." 

"Hey, come on," he said, trying to touch her shoulders again. Jean spun around. 

"I'm tired, Logan. Tired of everything. Get in the car." She locked the doors of the jeep with her mind and stormed back to the Explorer. 

"Suppose it won't do any good to say I'm sorry," said Logan once they were moving. Jean shook her head. 

"No." 

"Just tryin'," said Logan. Jean gripped the wheel, white-knuckled. 

"What the _hell_ is the matter with you? You call your girlfriend at twelve-thirty in the morning to come get you at a _strip bar_?" There was only silence from Logan. Jean realized what she had just said. _Your girlfriend… _

"Moving pretty fast, ain't you, Jeannie?" he said quietly. Jean flushed, anger and resentment mixing. 

"Excuse me," she said tightly. "I didn't mean to." 

"God forbid I should not wanna make things formal, like Cyclops," said Logan. Jean crumbled. Tears came spurting out, hot, enraged tears. 

"You leave Scott Summers out of this!" she shouted. "He was a good, decent man and if you can't take being number two in my list of relationships then _tough shit!_" The Explorer screeched around a corner. Logan grabbed her hand roughly and guided it to the curb, Jean stomping on the brake just in time. 

"Thanks for the ride, sweetheart," he said. He got out and slammed the door. The window glass shattered, leaving fragments sprayed all over the passenger side. Jean slammed both palms hard against the steering wheel, screamed angry and hoarse. Logan didn't even turn back as he disappeared out of the pool of the streetlamp. 

Jean sucked down enough coffee for three the next morning, the only way she could face her classes in a reasonable state of numbness. Logan hadn't come home the night before. Of course. He hadn't slept by her in more than a week. _Could it be possible? _Jean thought wryly. _Could Jean Grey have had a fling?_ She'd believe a lot of things about herself since Scott died, hell, since she'd woken up the morning before she met Logan in the kiss, that she never would have dreamed before. A fling was certainly possible. Logan seemed to screw everyone he came in contact with one way or another, at some point in time, so why not her? "Jean?" said Jubilee, like an evil pixie in the door of the morning room. Jean set down her cup with more force than she meant. 

"What, Jubilation?" 

"This was under the front door," said Jubilee. She handed Jean a manila envelope. It had her name in block letters on the front. 

"If you ask me, flowers would have been better," said Jubilee. Jean ground her teeth. Again, since Scott and Logan had passed out and into her life, she'd been more easily irritated—like permanent, bad PMS. She ripped the enveloped with one red nail, viciously. The bloody color was another manifestation of her mood. A glossy photo slid out of the package, along with a note laser-printed on a plain sheet. Jean turned the photo over, half expecting it to be a ransom demand for one of the younger X-men. The little bastards certainly got into enough trouble. She stopped. It was black and white, meticulously printed by hand on an odd size of photo paper. A tube, with a body prostrate in it. Logan. Logan in Department H. She grabbed the sheet. **Hello, Jean. Would you like to know more? **A phone number followed. It was an extension for one of the student dorms. Girl's, Room 6. Where Jean had slept when she was a student and Marvel Girl. Now it was a teacher's room, housing visitors, and Jubilee on a more permanent basis. Jean picked up the photo again. Never had she seen Logan more helpless…or more totally enraged. His eyes burned like coals through the bubbling liquid, daring the men pictured only as flashes of white at the edge of the frame to thrust the adamantium into him. They had, though. And had paid. Jean was puzzled. **Would you like to know more?** _Yes_. 

Jubilee's phone rang, and she detected it over the buzzing of her hairdryer. An instinct she'd kept from being a telephone teen. "Hello?" she said quickly, watching the time. Class started in fifteen minutes. 

"Jubilation Lee?"

"Yes," said Jubilee briskly. She'd worked hard to keep the twangy, mall-rat tone from her voice since she turned twenty. She was twenty-two now, and didn't have much success. "Who's it?" she said, talking fast again, then cursing mentally. Sounding like a space cadet even to complete strangers. 

"I'd like to speak to Logan, Jubilee." The voice was male, certainly, a clipped baritone that suggested education, or momentous practice with elocution. 

"He's not here right now, can I tell him who's calling?" Jubilee ran a brush through her hair as she talked, and slipped a green sweater top on over her camisole. She loved cordless phones. 

"May I," corrected the voice. Jubilee stopped brushing. A prig, this caller. Correcting her when he didn't know her at all. There was silence on both ends. 

"_May I?_" said Jubilee finally, impatient. 

"You may," said the voice, sounding like he'd taught a dog a new trick. "Tell him his comrade in arms came calling." 

"Uh, you maybe want to leave your name?" suggested Jubilee, applying eyeliner and lipstick in record time. She really was going to be late. 

"No need, dear," said the caller. "I believe my delivery will clear things up." _Delivery? _Jubilee wondered. 

"Okay," she said. "If you say so." 

"I do," said the caller. "By the way, Miss Lee." Jubilee blotted and tossed the tissue away. 

"Yes?" 

"Navy blue is more your color. That green doesn't match your eyes." A dial tone sounded in Jubilee's ear. She slowly uncradled the phone from her shoulder and pressed the power button. She gave the window a nervous glance as she went out the door to teach second period. Outside, pine trees swayed in an approaching wind. 


	2. Awakened

Logan came back at dinner hour. Jean was entertaining Sean Cassidy, down from Massachusetts in the private dining room, and Jubilee and Kurt were overseeing the student diners. Logan came into the private room without even a knock, his clothes slightly more rumpled and his hair messy, or messier than it usually got. "Logan, good to see you," said Sean in surprise. 

"Yeah, hi," said Logan. "Jean, let's talk." 

"Not now," said Jean coolly, keeping her seat. 

"Yes now," said Logan, a growl coming into his voice. Sean sat back, his pale cheeks coloring at bit. Jean knew the Irishman hated being in on private matters. Jean threw her napkin on the table and jerked Logan out into the hallway. 

"I have a guest!" she hissed. 

"Too damn bad for him then," said Logan. "We need to talk. Seriously." Jean thew up her hands. 

"Fine. This way." She went into the Professor's old office, now occupied by file boxes, some broken desks, and the professor's own oaken specimen, untouched since he left for the Shi'ar Empire. Jean took a seat on the edge. "Talk, Logan. What's so hellaciously important?" 

"Jesus Christ, would you stop being a bitch for two seconds?" demanded Logan. Jean's eyes became slits. A firelight of anger came into them. 

"Don't you dare talk to me that way, Logan. Don't you ever try that again." Logan's neck hairs lifted as he felt the buzz of Jean's psionic field rise. An angry telepath was something no one wanted. 

"Sorry," he mumbled, though even to his ears he didn't mean it. "I just wanted to work this mess out. Guess you don't want to so bad." Jean sighed and pressed her face with her hands, then faced Logan again. 

"This isn't working, Logan. I'm just going to say it outright. I want it to work. But in order for us to be together you have to be willing to make some sacrifices." 

"Don't start talking like a goddamn self-help book," snarled Logan. "I got enough of that when Xavier was around. I still get it from Ororo and Jubilee. If you start I'm leaving." 

"You're a jerk!" Jean shouted suddenly. Her voice rattled the hanging lamp in the center of the professor's ceiling. "You're a goddamn self-centered, selfish jerk! You don't care about me! I was an easy go!" She glared burningly at him. "Isn't that right? I was just your latest diversion, and now that the novelty of the male conquest has worn off, I'm discarded." She folded as the words sunk in. 

"No, Jeannie," said Logan quietly. "I care for you. I waited years, years to get what I wanted. I pushed myself aside the entire time Cyclops was alive, even when I had a clear shot." He raised her chin with a knobby finger. "Give me some credit here. I was in love with Jean Grey, that little firebrand who took shit from nobody. She liked living. You don't. You're a different Jean." 

"My husband is dead," said Jean viciously. 

"Get over it," Logan snapped back. Jean started to spring for him, hurt him, but she realized the truth. Scott was dead. Had been dead for a long time. Long enough so she shouldn't still be turning herself off to everything. So this angry shell she'd made could have cracked a dozen times.

"Let's give this a rest," she said, looking at her skirt-covered knees, anywhere but Logan. He let his breath out in a frustrated huff. 

"Whatever you say, darlin'. You're the boss." He turned, calmly Jean thought, and opened the door. It was only when he slammed it so hard he put a crack through the hundred-year-old oak that Jean realized what she'd done. 

Jubilee's phone rang again as she was changing into her special silk pajamas. Logan had brought them from Japan on his last visit. They were brilliant red and intricately embroidered by hand, in black. Jubilee contained herself to one wearing a month, but the silk sure felt heavenly against her skin. The phone buzzed insistently. Jubilee realized she was looking at it with trepidation, until she saw the blinking light on the case and realized it was the school phone, being routed to a night line. Jubilee was the teacher of the month, mostly meaning she had to answer the phone after hours. "Hello?" 

"Jubilation?" the voice was fizzing with static and distance, coupled with a thick Asian accent. 

"Yes," said Jubilee. "This is she." 

"This is Mariko," said the voice, sounding hesitant. 

"Hi, Mariko," said Jubilee. "Are you calling for Logan?" 

"Um, no," said Mariko. "I'm coming to _see_ Logan." Jubilee sat on the bed. 

"Really." 

"I don't know if I'm imposing…" began Mariko. 

"No no," said Jubilee. "We'll be happy to see you. When do you arrive?" 

"Around ten tomorrow night," said Mariko. "JFK Airport." 

"Right," said Jubilee, scribbling on the back of an empty tissue box. "Flight numbers and stuff?" 

"Korean Air flight 22317," said Mariko. "Gate number is 34, I think." 

"Okay," said Jubilee. "We'll pick you up, and I'll tell Logan you're coming. He'll be happy to see you." 

"I don't know about that," said Mariko. "But I am coming, nonetheless. For better or worse." 

"Yep," said Jubilee. Both women chuckled politely. 

"I must say goodbye, the cost of this call is prohibitive," Mariko said. "Pleasure speaking with you, Jubilation." 

"You too, bye," said Jubilee. 

"_Sayonara_," said Mariko as she hung up. 

This time, Logan didn't even bother to use the doorknob, never mind knock. He kicked Jean's door open, startling her, waving a tan envelope and papers. "What in the _hell _is this?" Jean's breathing returned to normal when she saw it was just Logan. 

"It came for me today, in the mail," she said, recognizing the photo and printed sheet. 

"WHAT IS IT?" Logan shouted, brandishing it in her face. 

"It's a picture of you, in the tube. At Department H, I assume," said Jean. Sweat stood on Logan's forehead and he ground one booted heel into the floor. 

"Why didn't you _tell me_?" 

"I forgot," said Jean. 

"FORGOT?" Logan bellowed. 

"Stop shouting at me, or you can leave," said Jean, her tone making it clear Logan would not have a choice in the matter. His fist closed around the papers, and he took a few caged steps away from her, moving because he was helpless. 

"Sorry, darlin'," he said finally. "Who sent it? Where did it come from?" 

"I don't know," said Jean. "Jubilee found it." 

"Saw the person leaving it, too?" said Logan anxiously. 

"No," said Jean. "No one did." 

"Victor," said Logan. "He ain't been the same since I gave him that little prick in the brain." 

"You think Victor Creed is responsible? But he works for the government now," said Jean. 

"So did Hitler," said Logan. Jean conceded a point. "I'm gonna tear his moth-eaten hide right off his bones," Logan growled. "And then sew it back on and kill him again." 

"You don't even know if he did this," said Jean. "For god's sake, calm yourself down." Her phone trilling saved Jean from the brunt of Logan's anger. "Late," she muttered to whomever was on the other end. "Hello." 

"Logan, please." The voice was clipped and low, sounding like a cross between a telemarketer and a calm politician. Jean wordlessly handed over the phone. 

"Hello," Logan growled his word again, still seething over Victor's alleged mischief.

"Logan. How nice to hear your voice once again." Logan felt the blood leave his face. Jean saw it. 

"Logan?" she said, doctoral concern surfacing. 

"Who the hell is this?" he demanded. The voice tsked. 

"Why Logan. Don't tell me you've forgotten my name." 


	3. Shattered Fragments

The dial tone sounded. Logan looked at the phone, his fist squeezing tighter and tighter, crushing the plastic case. "Logan," said Jean, coming to his front. Logan's eyes were the clouded ones of a shock victim. Jean grabbed his shoulders and shook. "Logan!" He jolted and looked at her. 

"He's dead," he said. His voice was dull. 

"Who?" said Jean patiently. "Who was that?" 

"He's dead," said Logan again. Suddenly he erupted by Jean, claws flashing out, slashing her bed and mattress and flinging the frame on its end. "HE'S DEAD!" Logan screamed. 

"Who?" Jean shouted. Logan let out a primal cry, one Jean hadn't heard from him in a long time. She tried to stop him, but he shoved her so she overbalanced and sat down hard on the floor, then raced out the door and down the hall. She heard his boots go down the stairs, and then a moment later a motorcycle roaring away.

"Jubilee, is his bike still gone?" said Jean wearily the next morning. She knew she had blue rings under her eyes, and her hair wafted around her head in a messy cloud. She had canceled her morning classes and sat at the giant kitchen table with a mug of Kurt's industrial-strength German coffee. Jubilee was making her morning health-food concoction at the stove. 

"It's gone," she confirmed. "He hasn't called, either." Jean laid her head down next to her cup. 

"Why did I get this mess dumped on me, Jubilee?" The younger woman shrugged. 

"Can't help you there, Jean." She tasted some of the colorless porridge on the end of her spoon. "How is it a mess, anyway?" 

"Logan thinks Victor Creed is playing with his mind. He got a telephone call last night that upset him, and now I think he's gone off to dismember Victor, or something equally impulsive. Logan is like a walking tornado—you never know which way he'll blow next, or who he'll blow into." 

"Victor sent you that package?" said Jubilee in surprise. "I thought…" 

"What?" said Jean, turning her head slightly to look at Jubilee. 

"Oh, nothing," said Jubilee. "It doesn't matter, stupid thought." Jean was too wiped out to question. 

"Okay. Tell me if he comes back." 

"Yeah," said Jubilee. Jean got up; holding her coffee mug like it weighed a thousand pounds, and traipsed back to her room. Jubilee didn't interrupt her bleak state by telling her Mariko was arriving that night, and after she ate and left to teach her period, she forgot it too. 

Mariko rubbed her eyes as she got off the Korean Air 767. The huge jet was luxurious and accommodating, but sitting on it for twelve hours would test anyone. She also had the added stress of not knowing how her reunion with Logan would turn out. She brushed the strands of hair in face behind her ears, and straightened her wrinkled cotton pants. Her eyes scanned the departing crowd anxiously. He was standing back, outside the carpeted area of the gate. He had his perpetual unlit cigar in the corner of his mouth, and Mariko sighed, even over her nervousness. The filthy habit was what had annoyed her most during the time they shared. She noticed with approval, however, that he had trimmed his hair and shaved. In fact, he looked more polished than she'd ever seen him. He was even wearing black cotton pants, instead of grimy jeans. Mariko smiled slightly. This would be all right. "Hey, Mari," he said as they met in the walkway, taking her coat and carryon bag with an easy motion. 

"_Konnichi wa_, Logan," she returned. "_Ogenki desu ka_?" He looked at her. 

"Right." Mariko chuckled. 

"You're incorrigible, Logan, pretending you don't understand me." He laughed. 

"Yeah. Ain't I a riot?"

"Aren't I," she corrected automatically. Logan responded with his typical sigh. 

"Nice to see you again, sweetheart." He slipped an arm around her shoulder. Mariko hid her surprise. 

"You said something about Jean the last time we spoke," she said, then cursed her tongue. 

"Eh," Logan shrugged. "She's not doing it for me right now." His hand massaged the round of her shoulder. They were walking among the people like a couple. Mariko felt a tiny thrill. They claimed her bag quickly and then Logan led her out to the car park, his arm having migrated to her waist. 

"Logan-sama," she said, stopping. "Are you sure about this?" Logan pulled her along again, Mariko almost stumbling. 

"Yeah, darlin', what's to be sure about?" 

"Well for starters," said Mariko, digging her heels in. Her feet simply skidded; Logan was too strong. "You have not seen me for nearly two years." Logan stopped then, and looked down at her, almost a leer. The expression looked odd coming from him, and Mariko felt something curl in the pit of her stomach. 

"You're as good as ever, Mari, 'less you've let yourself go in some way I can't see." Mariko bristled. 

"That is highly unlikely." Logan jerked her on again, yanking her around a pylon to a nearly empty, dark section of the garage. Mariko let out a breath when she saw the silhouette of his jeep. Then her anxiety rose again when Logan pinned her against the pylon, his breath hot on her neck, the taste of him close. 

"Missed you, Mari," he whispered. Mariko felt her heart pounding. This was wrong, terribly wrong… Steel blades gleamed in the feeble garage light. The last thing Mariko saw was a terrible smile; the last thing she heard was her own scream. 

It was two a.m., and Kurt was the one who answered the pounding on the front door of the mansion. Wrapped in a red plaid bathrobe and faded pajama bottoms, inky hair ruffled, he was the last thing the two police officers expected to see. Kurt was too used to the reaction, and too tired to care. "This the Xavier Institute?" said one suspiciously. 

"_Da_," yawned Kurt. "How may I help you?" 

"May we speak to the head of the institution?" said the other cop. Kurt stood up. They were too wide-awake, too brisk for his liking. 

"What's this about?" The cops shifted uncomfortably. Kurt knew they were debating whether to tell the blue mutie anything. 

"There's been a murder," the first one said finally.

"I don't understand this," said Jean, when she had been woken and shown the two NYPD homicide detectives into her study. Jubilee and Warren were also up and standing anxiously in the background. 

"The deceased had a card with this address written on it," said the first officer. "This address." 

"Who has died?" said Jean. She was struggling to keep her calm. 

"Her wallet gave her name as Mariko Yashida, a resident of Japan." Jubilee clapped a hand over her mouth. 

"Oh my god! Mariko is _dead_?" The detectives, Jean, Kurt and Warren turned to her. 

"You knew the deceased?" demanded the second detective. 

"Well, yeah we all did!" said Jubilee. Her eyes were wide. "She was coming over here to visit Logan…I forgot." Her cheeks colored. Jean glared. 

"What are you saying, Jubilation?" 

"Mariko phoned the school number and said she was visiting. I forgot to tell you, Jean. I'm sorry." Jean let a breath out through clenched teeth. 

"What's your name?" said the first detective, standing and coming over to Jubilee. 

"Jubilation Lee," she said quietly, aware of Jean's glare on her face. 

"Ms. Lee, can you tell us about this?" said the detective. He took a plastic bag out of his pocket. Inside was a white scrap of paper, blood droplets liberally scattered over it. Jubilee felt her stomach lurch. The ink was still visible through the red. Hastily scratched Japanese characters, and a phone number. 

"It's Japanese," said Jubilee almost mechanically. _Blood…_

"We gathered that much," said the detective. "What's this number? What's the writing?" 

"What's the relevance of this?" Jean snapped, standing up. The second detective held up his hand to placate her. 

"It's Logan," said Jubilee, the shock of Mariko's blood wearing off. "The writing is a name. Logan. And this is his cellular telephone number." The second detective closed in on her as well. 

"This Logan, would he be about five foot six or eight, black hair, kind of wild looking?" Jubilee nodded. 

"Detective…" said Jean, but her voice wasn't angry so much as shaking with trepidation. 

"This Logan," said the first detective in perfect concert with his partner. "Is he a mutant? A mutant with some sort of…weapon in his hands?" 

"He has claws," said Jubilee. Jean shoved between the detectives and crossed her arms. 

"What is the meaning of these questions?" 

"The meaning, Dr. Grey," said the second detective, "is that this Logan is the man we have on tape. Killing Ms. Yashida." 


	4. Distorted View

Logan had been riding all night, lost in the zone between the road and the black sky, his thoughts focused north. Victor Creed thought he could fool him with spooky photos and a cheap voice changer—the big mutant was sorely mistaken. Government agent or no, employee of X-Factor, it didn't matter to Logan. Victor was going to pay through his ugly nose for this transgression. Morning light was breaking as Logan pulled into a tiny diner/gas station near the Canadian border. The Norton rumbled to a stop by the pump. Logan started filling the tank and took out a fresh cigar, habitually casting his eyes around the deserted station. That voice-changer Creed had used hadn't really been so cheap—it had freaked the hell out of him, if the truth were told. He was going to have to make up some pretty delicate story to explain to Jean why he trashed her bedroom. The real reason he didn't want to admit even to himself. But first Victor would be delt with. Logan stopped the pump and pulled out his billfold to go pay. His cell phone trilled from his jacket pocket. Logan sighed with irritation. "Yeah?" he demanded, punching the power button. 

"Logan?!" Jubilee practically shrieked. "Logan, where are you? I've been trying to call for hours!" 

"Riding," said Logan. "I didn't hear the ring." 

"Jesus…" said Jubilee. Logan realized her voice was thick, with stress, fatigue, or from crying he couldn't tell. 

"What is it, kid?" 

"Don't call me kid," said Jubilee, almost snapping. "Mother of god, Logan, do you realize what you've done?" 

"Excuse me?" said Logan. Jubilee kept going, talking faster and faster. 

"The police are here, they've been here for hours, there's a huge manhunt out for you all around New York, the prime minister of Japan is denouncing mutants, Jean's in hysterics—oh my god, Logan…" She broke down into sobs. "I know you didn't kill her, Logan. I know you didn't want Mariko to die." Logan felt his legs go out from under him and he sat hard on the curb. 

"Hold up—wait," he said hoarsely. "Mariko is _dead_?" Jubilee's tears started afresh. 

"They have you on tape, Logan. They think you killed her. They want you." 

"They—I—why?" sputtered Logan. 

"I know you aren't guilty!" Jubilee said. 

"The hell I am!" Logan shouted. He felt like he was going to explode—or pass out. The thing had killed Mariko… His call waiting sounded. 

"Please come home," Jubilee was crying. 

"Talk to you later, kid," he said abruptly, and punched the button savagely. 

"WHAT?" 

"Heard the bad news, have you?" Logan stood up, feeling the muscles in his body tighten. 

"You son of a bitch!" 

"Nothing more creative than that?" the voice tsked. Logan suddenly felt deep calm come over him. Not a spiritual or physical calm, but a calm of knowing what he was going to do. 

"You're a dead man, Victor," he said in the same clipped and cultured tones as the voice-changer. There was laughter as he hung up. 

Warren and Kurt were trying to be on two phones at once, Jubilee was still sobbing, and Jean sat in the middle of the mess, the focus of the two now-weary detectives. "Dr. Grey, this would help us immensely. Just answer the question." 

"I've told you everything I am going to, detective, until you allow me to contact my attorney," growled Jean. She looked like a specter—a tired, dirty one. Jubilee instantly soaked the tissue Kurt handed her, while he was yelling at a transatlantic call on one shoulder and simultaneously carrying on an animated and furious conversation in German on his other phone. "Will you shut up!" Jean suddenly shouted at her friend. Jubilee stopped, eyes big with shock. The detectives backed off from her. She took a breath, in and out, when she realized Kurt and Warren were staring as well. "Did you reach Logan?" she said quietly. 

"Yes," said Jubilee. "He won't come home. He hung up on me." The second detective instantly closed on Jubilee. 

"You contacted the suspect? Why didn't you tell us? This could have been significant!" 

"Leave me alone! Logan is NOT GUILTY!" Jubilee screamed back. 

"You are obligated to inform us of any contact!" the detective shouted at her, turning red. Warren slammed down one of his phones. 

"Gentlemen. This case is now being handled by Norman Meals, Esq. Perhaps you've heard of him?" The second detective backed out of Jubilee's face. 

"The criminal lawyer, the Manhattan Madman?" Warren smiled tightly. 

"None other. Ms. Lee, Logan and everyone in this room are under his case umbrella, so I suggest you have him present and set up a proper interrogation before you badger us about this matter any more." 

"We're just doing our job, Mr. Worthington," said the first detective. "Trying to catch a vicious and dangerous murderer." 

"That's an allegation, two to five years in a state penitentiary," said Warren in the same patronizing tone. "But I'm sure you knew that." The detectives looked at each other, and then the second one gathered the pages of notes scattered over Jean's desk. 

"Thank you for your time, Ms. Lee, Dr. Grey." The first one glared at Warren. "We'll be in touch." They left. Jean sank down into her chair with a sound of escaping air. 

"Thank god for your old money, Warren." Warren rubbed his eyes. Even his wings were drooping. 

"You're welcome, Jean." 

"He's not guilty," said Jubilee again. Warren hung up his second phone somewhat more gently. 

"Emma and Sean, are flying down from Massachusetts. Ororo is with them." Kurt looked over. 

"And Betsy is returning from England double-quick. We will have the whole team?" He suddenly looked back at his second phone. "_Nein! Da, NEIN!_" He let off a string of what sounded like curses and slammed the phone down. 

"What now?" sighed Jean. 

"My mother is coming up from Washington," said Kurt tightly. 

"Mystique? Why?" said Jubilee. 

"She thinks she has something to do with this, being a _friend_ of Logan's," Kurt spat. Jean passed a hand over her face. 

"Well, Kurt, she can't make the situation any worse." 

"Doubt she'll help, either," Kurt muttered. Jubilee was biting her lip. 

"Jean, if I forgot to tell anyone about Mariko's visit…how did Logan know?" She got dirty looks from the other three. "I mean, the person who killed Mariko." 

"I don't know," said Jean. "I wonder why anyone would target Mariko. She doesn't have any affiliation with us at all. Just Logan." 

"Perhaps," said Kurt, rubbing his chin, "we are not the target. Perhaps it is Logan, and Logan alone." 

The cabin was nondescript, on a good piece of land with lake frontage and a clear blue sky, just north of the border. X-Factor wasn't stingy with benefits for it's operatives. They did well keeping a psychopath like Victor Creed happy, even if he was under their control. Logan parked his bike a mile to the south of the cabin, downwind, in a stand of pines. He stripped off his jacket with the orange stripes, leaving just his black jeans and T-shirt. Moving sometimes in a crouch and sometimes high in the branches, always keeping silent, he moved towards his target. Victor Creed was going to die today. Logan would make sure. 

Kurt Wagner stomped out to the garage, keys jangling angrily in his hand. Mystique insisted he come pick her up at the Westchester airport. It was only seven a.m., and Kurt was ready for sleep again. The garage was dark, but Kurt knew the entire school like the back of his hand, and he stormed across the black space, feeling the emotional tornado in him settling into a heavy weight. Logan was a killer, a fugitive, and Jean thought he was on his way to commit another murder. Coupled with the intrusion of his mother…Kurt kicked angrily at a spare part that someone had left in his path. "Now, now, Kurt," said a voice from the shadows. Kurt jumped upwards, both feet leaving the ground. "Mein Gott! Who is that?" The figure stepped forward. "Logan!" Kurt practically shouted. "Logan, Jean was worried…" 

"I'll be she was," said Logan with a slight smile. "Tell her I'm safe and sound." 

"You have come back, that is the important thing," said Kurt. "Now you can tell them yourself you didn't kill Mariko." Logan stepped up to Kurt, his eyes winking in the blackness. 

"Kurt, pal," he grinned. "Who ever said I didn't?" Steel blades flashed. Kurt fell silently.

Victor Creed was sitting on the porch of his cabin, dressed in a cotton shirt and ratty jeans, rocking and watching a morning news program while he devoured a plate of half-cooked bacon. No toast, no eggs, just two dozen strips of still-frozen pork. Logan's nose twitched as the catty smell of Victor himself mingled with the bacon on the wind. He was crouched in the long grass, still down scent of Sabretooth. Logan felt the blood pounding in his head. He thought of Mariko, Jubilee crying, the fact that he was a wanted criminal. All because of Creed and his voice-changing pranks. Logan stood up, not more than thirteen yards from Victor. "You killed her," he said, his voice simple and quiet. "Today you die." Creed jumped, his bacon going onto the porch. 

"Runt. The hell you doing here?" Logan's claws came out. 

"Today," he repeated. "You die." He cleared the distance in five steps, bounded the rail and launched himself at Creed, who went over backwards in his wooden chair. "Why did you kill her?" Logan growled as he crouched over Creed, claws touching the blond stubble on his temple. "What the hell did she ever do to you?" Creed booted him off with a huge foot and Logan went through the porch rail. 

"Touchy today, ain't you?" said Creed. 

"Die, you son of a bitch!" Logan shouted. "Die for what you did to Mariko!" He threw himself into Creed's midsection, and they both went down. Logan's adamantium-reinforced fists began to pound on Victor's face, raising welts and drawing blood immediately. 

"What's the freaking matter with you?" Victor choked between punches. "I didn't do nothing to Mariko! I didn't kill anybody!" He had seen Logan's eyes and realized the smaller man was dead serious about his quest to end Victor's life. Victor rolled and got the upper hand, pinning Logan with a knee and dislocating his jaw. Logan growled with pain and stabbed a set of claws through Victor's midsection. Victor screamed like a wounded water buffalo, and Logan kicked him in the groin, sending him over backwards. Victor scrambled away from Logan, his healing factor needing time to make up the bleeding and damaged internal organs. Logan didn't give him the chance. He sprang to his feet and savagely kicked Victor with his motorcycle boots, heard ribs crack. Victor moaned again. 

"You killed her," repeated Logan. He raised his foot for another kick. Victor, however, grabbed the upraised ankle and flipped Logan on his back, jumping up at the same time. Logan pushed himself up with a karate move, as Victor charged. They met at the height of their velocity with a squelch. Logan stopped dead, thinking he was injured, perhaps fatally. Then he saw Victor's eyes go cold. Blood dribbled from his mouth. Logan forced himself to start feeling his own extremities again, and realized his right-hand claws were driven to the hilt into Victor's heart. Creed slumped against him. He was dead. Logan could feel the dying pulse of his heart through the steel. 

"You…" Blood bubbled up fresh in Victor's mouth. "Son of a bitch. You got me." He fell over, Logan's claws coming out with a sharp slide. He could see through the ribs and flayed flesh. Logan could see the savage's heart give one final pulse, then lie still. Logan started shaking, adrenaline leaving his system. 

"For Silver Fox," he said. "For Mariko Yashida. For your crimes against humanity. Victor Creed has died." He made his way back to the porch, suddenly feeling the hundred pound weight of his skeleton hanging on him. He slumped against the rail, feeling all the stress of the past day—hell, the stress of the past years since he'd first laid eyes on Creed, draining away. Creed's little television was still droning pleasantly. Logan's eyes went to it, intending to shut it down, but he froze. 

"Two violent murders rock New York State this morning, as the body of a second victim is discovered, apparently killed by the aptly nicknamed New York Slasher. The Slasher's first victim, Mariko Yashida of Japan, was found early this morning in the parking garage of JFK International Airport. This second body was found just hours ago at the Xavier Institute, a private school in Westchester, New York. The name has not been released, but U.S. news crews on the scene have determined that the second victim is a mutant. We go live to Westchester." The jerky live cam of a New York news crew showed EMTs crowed around the gate of the mansion, a stretcher coming out, the sheet bloody, Jean, Jubilee and Warren in a close cluster. Kurt…where was Kurt? "Tragedy strikes in Westchester…" began the American commentator, but all Logan could see was the blue hand that had slipped out from beneath the sheet. Victor was here, dead, no way he could have possibly been in New York, and yet… Logan let his breath out in a violent curse, blood going cold. His temples were pounding. 

"Oh my god…" 


	5. Mirror Image

No one at the mansion had the strength or the tears left to show much outward emotion over Kurt's death. Jubilee sat, eyes vacant, almost in a fugue state, Warren's wings and face sagged, and Jean…Jean had shut herself off. "Go to bed," she told Jubilee. The younger girl slowly raised herself from the stoop and followed Jean inside. Warren caught her shoulder. 

"You okay, Jean?" They both knew it was a stupid question. She simply shook her head, and dragged up the stairs to bed. Warren took a moment to sweep up the tracked dirt from the police and emergency workers, feeling much to hyped up to sleep or even sit down. He couldn't believe that Wolverine was a murderer—well he could. But not murders like this. Warren hadn't become a multibillionaire by ignoring people's subliminal signals. Logan was a killer—but the person who had murdered Mariko and Kurt was evil. That was something Logan had never stooped to. Warren sighed and set the broom aside. He started for the broad main stairs when it fell with a _thwack_, making Warren jump slightly and spun around. The startling sound took a far back seat to the figure standing in front of the door with his arms crossed. "Logan!" Warren shouted. 

"Hush now," said Logan, stepping towards him. "No need to tell the whole house." Warren felt his mouth hanging open. 

"Logan, how did you get in? Where have you been?" 

"I've been right here," said Logan. "Just fortuitously out of sight until our friends in blue cleared out." 

"Do you realize how this looks?" said Warren. "Those people out there think you're a killer. A heartless, cold-blooded killer." Logan suddenly stepped forward and grabbed the taller man by the front of his T-shirt. 

"You know what, Warren?" he hissed. "That's exactly what I want them to think." Warren felt cold gather inside of him. 

"You…" he breathed. "You're…" Logan stepped back and extended his claws, very businesslike. 

"Save your breath for the screaming, Bird Boy." He drove his claws to the ends into Warren's midriff. Angel didn't actually get a chance to scream. His life left him too quickly for that.

Logan reached the mansion at twilight. He saw the squad car parked at the gate a split second before the officer looked up, and screeched down the side street. He parked the Norton behind some bushes and vaulted the wall around the school. He raced across the soccer field and the back lawn, found the key to the back door of the mansion and let himself in. The kitchen was empty and dark. "Jean!" he shouted. "Jubilee! Warren!" He almost yelled out for Kurt, then remembered. "GAAHHHHH!" Logan screamed, overturning the heavy kitchen table, sending clean plates and student's textbooks crashing down. 

"Logan!" shouted a voice from behind him. He spun. 

"Jean." She was wearing sweatpants, hair flying out in a cloud. She looked more utterly tired than he had ever seen her. 

"Oh, god, Logan," she said, coming over and squeezing him hard. He stroked a hand through her hair.

"It's okay, Jeannie." She pulled back, red eyes tearing again. 

"No, it isn't, Logan. You have to turn yourself in." He gripped her shoulders. 

"I killed Victor, Jeannie. No way in hell I'm turning myself in. Not while he's—" He cut himself off abruptly. Jean sensed his thought shift. 

"Tell me, Logan. Tell my why everyone is dying, and why the police think you're the one who killed them." He stepped away from her. 

"I can't, Jean. You wouldn't understand, and I can't tell you. Just forget it." Jean walked up to him and slapped him across the face, hard. 

"You _will_ tell me what the _hell_ is going on here and you will tell me _now._" Jubilee coughed at the kitchen door. 

"You came back." Logan turned to her. 

"Kid, I can explain…" 

"Don't call me kid," said Jubilee. "And please. Explain. Make it good." Logan frowned at her tone. 

"Sit down, both of you." Jean led Jubilee into the living room and they both sat on the couch, facing Logan like a tired, angry tribunal. "That photo Jean got is from the Department H archives," he said. "This will make more sense if I explain some stuff. First off, the seeds for this were planted in 1947 with the Roswell landing." 

"Oh, Jesus Christ," said Jean. "Logan, the truth is the only thing that can possibly save you right now, you are _not_ helping yourself!" 

"Read my mind, Jean," he said quietly. "Read it and you can tell this is true." Jean pursed her lips, but she left his thoughts alone. 

"The Roswell ship was a Shi'ar transport that had gone way off course and got trapped in our gravitation. It crashed and got taken to Area 51. Twenty years later Department H got a hold of it and stripped off the technology to use in their facilities." 

"The height of the Cold War," said Jubilee. "When you were on Weapon X." Logan nodded. He noticed Jean's anger had faded and she was simply listening. 

"They built things you wouldn't believe, Jeannie…an amplifier for Wraith's teleporting, satellite communicators that could crack through anything we have today…" 

"They designed the adamantium process with the tech, didn't they?" said Jean suddenly. Logan nodded once, tightly. 

"Not only the tubes. That was the just the beginning. They knew I had a five- percent chance of survival, even with my healing factor. The bastards rigged up another tube." 

"For what?" said Jean. 

"An artificial chromosome/DNA reproduction unit," said Logan, reciting the phrase heavily. "In other words…they cloned me." 


	6. Deadly Shard

"So what you're saying," said Jean after a very long pause. "Is that there is an exact clone of you running around, and he's the one who committed the murders." 

"He had a few screws lose," said Logan defensively. "Department H swore to me that they terminated him." Jean and Jubilee gave him looks. When was the last time anyone had believed Department H?

"Well, at least this gives us a picture of our enemy," said Jean. "He has your mutant abilities, your adamantium, and your memories?" 

"Not my memories," said Logan, shaking his had vehemently. "He's not me." 

"You got that right," said Jubilee. 

"He's crazy, he hates me, he wants to kill me," said Logan. "Simple as that." 

"And in order to do that he's stalking all of us," said Jean. "This is really perfect."

"Not my fault, Jeannie," said Logan with a growl. "Just another thing Weapon X did to screw with me." 

"And it's placed us all in jeopardy because you didn't tell us about him," snapped Jean. 

"Guys," said Jubilee, suddenly looking worried. "Where's Warren?" 

"Ah, shit," said Logan, spinning and running towards the front of the mansion. Jean and Jubilee ran after him. Logan stopped in the hallway and sniffed, then ran again towards the foyer. Jean, on his heels, saw the red pool coming from under the coat closet door. Logan yanked it open and Warren's body fell forward, tumbling to the tile. 

"Oh my god," said Jean, putting a hand over her mouth. "Logan…he took his wings." Logan's face set, hard and angry. 

"We're getting out of here. Now." He turned on Jubilee, who was making a valiant effort not to be sick on the marble floor. "Pack us some things, kid. Jean, come with me and get the car. He's close." He yanked open the front door and was hit in the midsection by a flying mass of blue and white. 

"You sick son of a bitch!" Raven Darkholme screamed, pummeling his face with practiced fists. "You killed him! You killed my son!" 

"Back off!" Jean shouted at her, grabbing Raven both with her hands and her mind and suspending her a few feet of the ground. 

"Let me down, you redheaded idiot!" shouted Mystique. Logan got up and shook his head slightly. 

"For chrissakes, Mystique, I didn't do it. It was the Number 2." Mystique stopped thrashing and looked at him, yellow animal eyes going wide. 

"No. No way in hell." Jean glared at Logan. 

"Oh, I see. You told _her_ all about this." 

"Jeannie, it's nothing," he said. He wiped a trail of blood from under his nose and pulled Mystique down. "Number 2 is out, he's the one that got to Kurt." 

"How did he get out? Department H had him tucked away so deep it would take a submarine to find him." Logan shook his head. 

"He's had a lot of time to think about me. I think he's really gone off the edge." Mystique raised a sardonic eyebrow. 

"You mean more off then he was when he came out of the tube?" 

"Lot more," returned Logan. The two glared at each other. 

"Well this is worthy of a talk show, but we still have the issue of a dangerous, crazy person running lose somewhere," said Jean. "I suggest we relocate to somewhere more secure." She gave Mystique a knowing look. "And I'm sure dear Raven has a few safehouses and/or love nests around Westchester." 

"Bite me, Grey," said Mystique. 

"Enough!" yelled Logan. "Jean, go help Jubilee. Raven, car." He grabbed the blue woman by her wrist and yanked her out the door. 

Jean threw a change of pajamas, jeans, underwear and a fresh shirt into her duffel bag, then as an afterthought added her uniform and boots. As she was heading to the door the telephone rang. She snatched it up. "Hello?" 

"Hello, Jean." The duffel slipped from her fingers and met the floor with a thump. 

"You…" He chuckled. 

"Getting all hot and bothered over me, I see. If I may say, Logan is a fool for giving you up." 

"Where are you? What do you want from me?" 

"From you?" He chuckled again. "To die, of course. What did you think I wanted?" Jean let her breath out. 

"Please leave us alone. No one needs to die." 

"Oh you're wrong," he said. "You all _need_ and are _going to_ suffer, just like I have for twenty years. This will be a lot of fun for me, Jean." She spun as her door locked from the outside. "Poor little Jubilee," he tsked. "Think you can get to her in time?" The dial tone sounded. Jean raced over and rattled her doorknob with all her strength. It was jammed solid, and a telekinetic push did nothing to unlock it—something was jammed in the lock. 

"LOGAN!" Jean screamed. "Raven! Anybody!" She heard pounding footsteps outside, and then Logan was yelling for her. 

"Jeannie!" 

"The door's stuck!" Jean yelled. 

"Stand back," said Logan. A second later he slashed through the door. Jean raced past him and down the hall. 

"He's after Jubilee!" she shouted. Logan caught her arm and hauled her to a stop. 

"Wait, Jean, we can't just go in there." 

"Of course we can!" she said. "What's wrong with you? Come on!" Logan still held her arms and looked at her. 

"Jean, tell me something. If two minds are exactly the same…how can you tell them apart by telepathy?" Jean's eyes went wide as she saw the slave collar and cell phone drawn from behind his back, but he hit her before she could scream. Jean Grey disappeared into the night, leaving only a faint spatter of blood for Logan to find when he came racing in response to her cries.   



	7. Captured Reflection

The safehouse was a dingy little apartment in the 'bad' section of Westchester, equipped with a bed, an array of video surveillance cameras and a satellite radio rig. Jubilee went and sat in the exact center of the bed, shaking and white. Raven calmly turned on the cameras and watched the monitors flicker to life. Logan kicked a board that was lying in the corner against the wall, hard. "Stop it," said Raven. "She's fine." 

"How do you know that? You don't know anything!" Logan looked ready to rip Mystique's head off. 

"I know that Number 2 wants to toy with you. He has nothing if not a sick sense of humor. You little Jean isn't dead yet. He'll torment you first." 

"Gee, thanks a heap," said Logan. Raven smiled briefly and fakely. 

"You're very welcome." She tested the radio, which screeched and then buzzed with the static of a linkup. "You're going to leave Number 2 to me." Logan stopped his hyped-up pacing. 

"Like hell." Mystique turned what he thought of as her evil eye on him. 

"Number 2 killed Kurt, Logan. I have a vested interest in this as well." 

"Since when did you ever care about Kurt?" Logan demanded. "This…thing took Jean, killed three of my best friends and he wants me dead! _I'm_ the one who's taking him on, sweetheart!" Raven carefully crossed her arms over her chest and faced Wolverine. 

"You'll be needed to extract Jean safely, and make sure she gets away. I will be the one to terminate Number 2." Logan opened his mouth to shout her down again, then closed it and looked at her with crafty eyes. 

"Terminate, eh?" he said. Mystique nodded. 

"With extreme prejudice." 

"Raven, darlin'," said Logan, a dangerous look in his eye as well. "All this sympathy with your boy, this big desire to be the one that takes out Number 2…that wouldn't come from tryin' to get on the Department's good side, would it?" Raven opened her mouth, eyes widening, then shut it again and composed herself. 

"Of course not. Why on earth would you think that?" 

"No reason," said Logan. "'Cept I heard from the educated circles you got into a little hot water with the Mossad. Had to leave the West Bank pretty quickly, right?" Logan hadn't actually heard that Mystique had doubled crossed the Israeli Secret Service, her last employer, but it was an educated gamble that paid off. 

"How…" started Mystique, and then clamped her lips together. 

"I'd say the next stop on your list would be Department H, or whatever they call themselves now. So, when they got wind of the breakout they called you up to do a little trial run. Take out Number 2 and join the club." He stepped closer to Raven, inside her personal circle. "Am I right, darlin'?" Mystique's eyes narrowed as she gauged Logan. She didn't like what she saw. He was keeping his anger below the surface, but it was the dangerous, bone-crunching kind of anger. 

"What tipped you off?" she said finally. 

"The mission-speak, termination and such, and the phony sympathy over Jean. You bein' back in Washington in the first place. And of course your little actin' job over Kurt." 

"That wasn't acting," said Mystique wearily. "My god, do you think I'm completely emotionless?" Logan shrugged one shoulder. 

"Pretty much, 'least the face you've shown to me is." 

"Look, I'm sorry I wasn't always straight with you, but it was a bad time!" Raven shouted. "My god, you lost your memory, I lost my son—" 

"I thought you gave him up," said Jubilee from the bed. Raven turned on her, furious and then sagged. 

"Yes. I gave him up for adoption. I made sure he got a good home even though he looked like he did. Give me that much credit." She smoothed her hands over her dress in a nervous gesture. Logan came around to her front. 

"I don't like you, Raven. I don't trust you and I never did. If you want to help me get Jean back and take down Number 2, fine. But this is my game, sister, and we're playing by my rules." Mystique's lips tightened as she saw her chances with Department H slipping away, and then nodded. 

"Fine." 

Jean came to tied to a post, sounds of water dripping and flowing all around her. Her eyes fluttered open, and she took in cement walls and nondescript brown piles of junk on the floor around her. She was tied to a rotting wooden support pole. A basement. "Help!" Jean tried to scream. There was a cloth strip bound tightly over her jaw, compressing her tongue and making her entire face ache. She fought down the reflex to gag. 

"Enjoying yourself, I see." He stepped from the shadows, and Jean heard a door close. _The exit._ Jean yanked against her bond, with no effect. Her hands were tied with plastic disposable handcuffs, at least three sets, and they tightened a notch when she yanked. Her feet and shins were padlocked in a thin, biting chain, and another one was around her waist. She felt the rasp of a collar around her neck. Genoshan slave model. She had a dull, persistent headache to prove that her telepathy and psionic abilities were dampened. "Now," said Logan's clone. He was wearing black cotton semi-dress pants and a black T-shirt, and he'd clipped his sideburns and hair and shaved. He still looked enough like Logan to fool almost anyone, though. He stepped up to her, and Jean pressed her head back against the pole as far as it would go. "Don't be frightened, _Jeannie_," he snickered. "You're not going to get the treatment just yet. I'll take the gag off, screaming won't help you anyway." He extended the index claw on one hand and sliced through the gag. Jean felt some hair and skin go with it, and blood trickled down her neck. The false Logan leaned in close and sniffed the blood almost critically. "Heh. You're very pretty bait, if I may compliment you?" 

"Go to hell," spat Jean. 'Logan' stepped back from her. 

"My dear Jean, I have been in hell. Hell and purgatory, for the last twenty years. And now, it's time for my brother to share some of the suffering." He blotted the blood sharply. "One last thing, Ms. Grey." 

"Doctor," Jean snapped, irrationally trying to irritate him again. 

"Oh, drop the pretension," said the clone. "You've worked so hard to become the ideal female—The lady and the doctor, the vixen and the lamb, all rolled into one. It's become so muddled in your head you don't know who you are anymore." He patted her cheek like an old uncle. "Now, as I was saying, there is one rule here in my little universe. You try to escape before my job is done and I _will_ kill you. You have nearly as much shock value dead as alive. Clear?" 

"Go to hell," said Jean again, locking his eyes with hers. They were blue, like Logan's, but this blue was spiky and tumultuous. They weren't dead, flat eyes like Jean had seen on so many killers. She could see the fire of insanity burning underneath the sky shade. 

"Please, my dear, I think we've established that's unlikely," he said, smiling. "And stop trying to psych me out with your little telepath stares." He turned away from her and went back into the shadows, drawing out his cell phone as he went. He speed-dialed and listened to the ring. "Hello, Logan. Guess who's here with me?" 


	8. Transparency

Ororo, Sean and Emma arrived at an empty mansion. Since the student body had been shifted largely to the Massachusetts academy, only the junior students remained here, and it being a long weekend Storm guessed they had left to visit parents or friends. But someone should be here; Warren's frantic call had made clear the emergency. "What a warm welcome," said Emma sardonically, setting down her expensive Gucci bag. Storm dropped her school duffel on the foyer floor next to it. 

"Jean? Logan?" she called out. "Warren? Anyone home?" Her voice echoed back against the high ceiling, but no one returned her call. 

"There's nae a soul around," said Sean. Emma closed her eyes briefly and then nodded. 

"No one's here. Perhaps dear Warren is becoming hysterical?" 

"Warren Worthington and hysterical are not words I would put together readily," said Storm. "You saw the newscast on the plane—someone believes Logan murdered Mariko Yashida." The abbreviated in-flight broadcast had not revealed the death of Kurt, or any of the other events leading up to the deserted mansion. 

"Rotten bit," said Sean. "Logan doesn't deserve that kind of an accusation." 

"The NYPD has him on tape," said Emma. 

"Tapes can be faked," said Storm more sharply than she'd intended. Emma turned one ice-blue eye on her. 

"We're all upset, Ororo. I didn't mean anything by it." Storm sighed and smoothed back her hair. 

"I know, Emma. I'm going for a walk. Perhaps Jean and the others are out back." Sean shrugged.

"I think we've been stood up, lass, but go check." Emma hefted her bag and went upstairs, probably to take possession of the cushiest guestroom. Storm walked through the kitchen, which was in an awful state, and out the back door. The basketball court and back lawn were deserted. She quickly levitated and checked over the fence in the swimming pool, but it too only bore a few wet towels, no people. 

"Logan?" Storm called again. "Jean?" She looked around at the gathering twilight. "Anybody?" Making a small ball of light to see, she walked past the poolhouse and down the path towards Professor Xavier's rose garden. The garden was small, really four hedged walls, a gazebo, some benches, and some prize-winning bushes that had been there when the Professor moved in. Storm thought she saw a flicker of movement at the edge of the arched hedgerow. She moved forward again and stopped, feeling an unreasonable fear prickle up her spine. She made her light brighter, moving her hand over the hedge, which gleamed blackly but showed no sign of life. _I'm paranoid, _she thought. She took another step forward, and then the wind blew and the thing sprang out violently at her. Storm let out an abbreviated scream when she saw it was a piece of black cloth caught on a twig. "For the love of the Bright Goddess," she sighed, disgusted with herself. "You're hopeless, Ororo." She extinguished her light and felt her heart return to a normal pace. 

"Hey 'Ro," said a voice from behind her. Storm screamed in earnest this time, spinning around and rising slightly in the air on her flight reflex. "Hey, geez," said Logan. "What's eating you?" Storm shut her eyes, feeling her hands trembling. 

"I'm sorry, Logan. You startled me." He grinned. 

"Sorry. Didn't mean to." Storm crossed her arms.

"Where have you been?" 

"Right here," said Logan. 

"Didn't you hear us calling?" Storm demanded. Logan shook his head. 

"Nope. Not a sound. What're you doing here, anyway? You were supposed to be doing a hitch in Massachusetts." He sounded almost accusatory. Storm bristled. 

"I came back because I heard one of my best friends had been accused of murder, and the murder of one of his oldest friends yet. Excuse me for caring." 

"Hey hey, 'Ro, don't be like that," he laid an arm across her shoulder in a familiar way. Storm saw something black in his hand. 

"What's that?" 

"A present," said Logan as he slammed the slave collar home. 

Jean had been drifting in and out of consciousness for hours or days, she couldn't tell. The collar muting her psionic powers was putting her slowly but surely into a fugue state, and being starving, aching and tied to a pole with a deranged psychopath tormenting her didn't help either. She held her head up with some difficulty as she heard a door open above her, over the ever-present sound of dribbling water. That if nothing else was surely going to drive her crazy. She heard footsteps and then the basement door opened, letting in a slash of light. He was dragging someone, had their arms twisted up in a military grip. The person was putting up one hell of a fight, but Jean could see the red light of another collar around their necks. "Will you stop movin'?" the false Logan growled. Mad, he still sounded like Wolverine. 

"I will when you release me!" snapped the other person. Jean's eyes snapped open. 

"Storm?!" Storm squinted into the dimness. 

"Jean! Jean, what on earth are you doing here? Has Logan gone mad?" Jean could hear the panicked edge to her voice even without mental powers. 

"It's not Logan," said Jean. "It's just a…" 

"I am a replication of your dear Wolverine," said the clone. He smiled at Storm. "But I'm as near as you'll ever come to getting close to him." He chuckled. 

"I hope you burn in torment for many eternities," said Storm in a voice laced with hate. 

"Funny. Ms. Grey said basically the same thing when she met me." He tsked. "You ladies sorely need work on your manners." He shoved Storm hard, and she tripped over a cardboard box and went down. "Now," said the clone. "We have a little test for you, Jeannie dear. I believe in the saying 'known thine enemy.' So if you answer my questions correctly, Ms. Munroe will live. Scarred, but alive. If the answers aren't to my satisfaction…" He smiled, teeth gleaming in the blue light. Jean swallowed. She looked at Storm, who she could tell was in shock, her eyes bright and wide. 

"Ask me," she said through gritted teeth. He took a few steps towards her, reaching out a hand to stroke her knotted, dirty hair. His hands weren't callused and knobby like Logan's. They had the articulation of a craftsman or an academic—or someone who had spent his entire existence in a padded cell. 

"Tell me how you felt, when, after screwing with my dear compadre's head and heart for so many years, you found out he was a selfish, arrogant bastard who cared nothing for you?" 

"He cared for me," said Jean. The clone shook his head as if she were a small, delusional child. 

"No, Jean, because men like Logan have cold hearts. He does not care for any woman for more than a few hours. Next question: after all the travesties you've been responsible for, as Phoenix and others, and all the heartache you caused a reasonably decent if very boring man, do you think you deserve to live?" Jean looked at him. His question had struck a buried, painful part of her mind. She dropped her head to her chest. He grabbed her chin between two fingers and forced her eyes to his. "Do you think," he said slowly, "that you should die for your crimes against humanity?" 

"It wasn't my fault," Jean whispered, feeling tears go down her cheeks. "I didn't mean to hurt those people." 

"But you did, didn't you?" said the clone. Jean jerked her chin away from him, pressing her eyes shut as the tears flowed out. The clone slapped her, and grabbed her neck so hard he almost dislocated her jaw. His furious eyes burned into hers. "_Didn't you!_" He shouted. 

"Yes!" Jean shouted at him, wanting the gaze burning with madness to go away. He stepped back from her, went over, and yanked Ororo up by her ponytail. 

"And do you think you deserved to die?" Jean shook her head, tears scattering like a salty mist. 

"No." His claws came out. 

"Wrong answer." 

Logan would never win an award for the world's best driver, but right now he was scaring even highway daredevil Jubilee. "Jesus H. Christ on a crutch!" shouted Raven as they almost took a semi head-on. "Would it kill you to watch the road?" 

"He's gonna kill us all regardless in a second," said Jubilee. 

"Gotta get back to the school," muttered Logan, almost as if he were in a trance. They jumped a median and cut through two lanes of speeding cars to make the turn onto Greymalkin Lane. "That's what he said, and he has her." He looked at Jubilee. "She's alive. For now." The arrived at the school, half-parked on the lawn, and Logan exploded out of the passenger side. Jubilee noticed the rented Lexus parked more conventionally in the drive. 

"Emma and Sean are here," she said. Raven was following Logan, who's cell phone was already ringing off the hook. 

"You tell the others!" he shouted, making a hard left around the school and heading for the back yard. Jubilee changed course and went inside to inform her former headmistress of the situation. 

"You hurt her and I swear, I'll make your death so painful the adamantium will feel like a pinprick!" growled Logan as he jabbed the button on his phone. 

"Now now, manners, Wolverine," said the voice. "And Jean is not harmed. She's too valuable. However, she is very uncomfortable, and I'm having such fun seeing how much pain I can subject her to." In the background Logan could hear screaming. 

"Jeannie!" he bellowed in frustration. "Goddamn you! _Goddamn _you!" 

"Now that was just rude," said the voice. "I had to hold the phone away from my ear. Do you want to hear where I am or not?" Logan had reached the back of the school, and his practiced eye scanned for any sign of his clone, even though he knew the sadistic bastard was most likely far away. 

"Where are you?" he said, his voice the quiet tone that smart opponents knew to be a thousand times more deadly than his growl. 

"Ah, I'm so close," said the voice in singsong. "So close and yet I could be so far away. Bit of a dilemma, eh?" The dial tone buzzed in Logan's ear. Behind him he heard Emma, Sean, Jubilee and Raven come piling out the back door. 

"Jubilation told us everything," said Emma. "What can we do?" Logan's mind was racing. He loved riddles…and he also loved to taunt. _So close and yet I could be so far away…I could be so far away…I _could _be so far away…_

"Son of a bitch, right under my nose…" Logan breathed. He took off at a dead run for the boathouse. 


	9. The Mirror Breaks

The two men faced each other in the dim light, one breathing hard from his run across the lawn and the other smirking at him. Logan's first impression was the rank smell of fear, mildew and blood. His second was that Jean was there, and alive. His third was that Ororo was not. He saw her lying on her back in a corner, legs at angles and arms thrown out. Her hair spread in a cloud, turning pink with the huge pool of blood that cradled her. "Ororo…" whispered Logan, feeling his voice catch hard in his throat. 

"Blame dear Jeannie for that one," said the clone lightly. "I must confess, at first I thought she was much to prim and proper for you, but once you get to know her she's quite a bitch." He laughed again, the obscene high chuckle. "I didn't hurt her, not to worry. At least not physically." 

"Logan…" said Jean. "He killed her…" Logan could hear the tinge of hysteria in her voice. His head snapped back to his smug doppelganger. Without preamble, without threats or curses or taunts, the wolverine sprang. An animal growl came from Logan's throat and the molten rage that he'd tried to forget flowed through him. Both Logan and the clone went to ground; Logan's blows aiming to kill. 

There were footsteps above, and then excited voices, and Jubilee and Emma and Sean piling down the stairs. Emma spread her arms wide to stop the others when she saw Logan, shirt already ripped and bloodying, slashing and growling in the most fearsome battle she'd ever been witness to. Sean tried to push past her, and Emma jabbed an elbow into his side. "This is his fight," she said quietly, as one of the Logans went crashing into the wall hard enough to leave a dent. 

"Yeah," said Jubilee. "But will he win?" Logan got a hit on his clone, slashing deeply through his middle, blood spraying over both of them. The clone let out a howl of pain, and Logan moved in to finish him. The clone kicked out, and Logan went stumbling away again. Emma used the distraction to free Jean from her chains and handcuffs. Jean leapt at the clone to aid Logan, but with her slave collar still on the false Logan turn to her, and, with a grin, placed a hand on her thigh and hooked his foot around her ankle. Jean felt the sickening _crack_, but it was a full two seconds before pain flooded through her. She felt the clone bat her away and she went down in a pile of greasy rags. 

"Jean!" Logan screamed. The clone turned back to him. 

"Tsk tsk, my friend. Even now you can't save her from me." Logan's lip curled. 

"Wanna bet?" The clone stepped back into a ready stance, but Logan observed no such formality. A feral roar ripped from his throat, and he leapt at his clone, the slashing of the two sets of adamantium claws creating sparks and smoke. Almost before it had started it was over. The clone made a wrong move; Logan slashed his arm away, spun, kicked, and ended on one knee with his claws through his twisted twin's skull. With very little fanfare, blood pooling and eyes dimming, Logan's clone died. 

"Are you sure you're alright?" said Jean anxiously as she and Storm were being loaded into the ambulance. Logan pushed her hair off her forehead with a bloody hand. 

"Yeah, darlin'. I'll survive." Jean looked over at Ororo. 

"I hope Storm will. The EMTs said her spinal cord is in bad shape. Paralysis at the very least." Logan impulsively leaned over and kissed Jean hard, feeling her thin arms holding him like a lifeline. But then she lay back, moving away from his lips. He could tell she wasn't looking at him through those eyes anymore. 

"I'm sorry, Jeannie," he said as an emergency worked loaded her gurney into the ambulance. The other medic injected a morphine shot into her arm. Jean smiled weakly at him before her eyes closed. 

"Goodbye, Logan." Logan stood on his own as the red and white ambulance pulled away down the drive. _Goodbye, Logan_. In more ways than one. 

"Wolvie?" said Jubilee softly at his elbow. Logan blinked and turned to her. 

"Yeah, kid." She touched his arm, where one of the deeper slashes was already scarring over and fading. 

"Glad you're okay," she said.

"Aye," said Sean. "I think that's a shared sentiment, my friend." Emma, having dispatched the NYPD and Westchester police with her particular brand of terror, also joined the circle. 

"Any other hidden doppelgangers up your sleeve, Wolverine?" she said archly, raising an eyebrow. Logan felt the anger rising in him again, but before he could snarl Jubilee turned to her former headmistress. 

"Emma? Shut up." Sean snorted, and Emma opened her mouth, then closed it in a thin line. 

"I'll be in the house," she said icily, turning on her heel and storming back to the mansion. Sean was trying his best to control a wicked grin. 

"I'd best follow her. See you in a moment." He followed the furious White Queen. Logan looked at Jubilee. 

"Never figured you for the aggressive type, kid." Jubilee shrugged. 

"Being stocked by an insane clone of my best friend can change a girl." Logan slung one arm around her shoulder, and Jubilee impulsively threw her arms around his sturdy torso and hugged him arm. Logan returned her embrace, for once in his life feeling like he needed the touch. 

"Don't know what I'd do without you, kid. And I mean that." Jubilee smiled and stepped back. 

"Same here, Logan." He patted her shoulder and started back for the mansion. 

"Come on, Jubes. Let's go home." 

****

THE END

__

Whew! I can't believe this thing is actually finished! Thanks to everyone who reviewed me…Valkyrie, Hoodoo, Hemlock, Addie Logan, Darth Maligna and Chibikat just to name a few ^_^ . _Comments, questions? Email me! I never get any! Also ::shameless plug here:: visit my brand-new X-Men web site, _[www.angelfire.com/scifi/nextx][1]_ Thank you once again, happy writing. _

~GambitGirl 

   [1]: http://www.angelfire.com/scifi/nextx



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